


We Are All Just Stories In The End

by NikkiWolfe



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Canon, Drabbles, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Slow Updates, Team as Family, Violence, au's, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:21:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25133812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikkiWolfe/pseuds/NikkiWolfe
Summary: Just a collection of small drabbles/oneshots of the characters from one of my favourite shows. May be canon or AU.I do take requests, but it might take a few weeks to get it done.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	1. Beware Papa Bear

**Author's Note:**

> So I had a few oneshots in progress for a while now but never got around to posting this. Pix, a follower of my Familiae story, inspired me to do so. So the first chapter is for her.

The bar was loud and packed when they walked in. It had been so long since he has had a chance to just visit a bar and relax after a hard mission. It had been a constant go, go, go for the past few months, especially with this group of people. They would somehow find something to mess up. They still don’t listen to him even after all this time. Not that he ever expected them to, but it would still be nice if they respected his opinion.

Like now for instance. He had told them he was going out for the night so that he could relax and they insisted on following him. Any other day, he would have argued with them, but he was just too tired. This last mission, which involved stolen Japanese artifacts with magical abilities, ninja-geishas, and a lost witches grimoire, has exhausted him beyond what he was used to. So he figured that he would go out to a bar, have some drinks, then head back to the ship and crash. Hopefully for more than just a few hours which seems to be his current sleeping pattern. Which is probably why he didn’t feel like arguing with his ragtag team.

The bar that they have chosen was close to the ship just in case they needed to make a quick getaway. He prayed to whatever deity that may be listening that they didn’t have to. He just wanted to have a nice, quiet night.

“Nice place,” Rip didn’t even need to look at Mick to know he was grinning. He could already feel a migraine growing with the thought of how bad this could end.

“It’ll do,” Sara replied.

Rolling his eyes, he headed to the bar. “I’m sure it will. Now, I don’t care what you do as long as you don’t start shit.”

Several affirmatives was all he got before they dispersed among the room. He didn’t bother to watch them. He wanted to say it was because he trusted them but honestly, he was just too tired to care. He stopped at the bar and waved to the bartender to get her attention. 

“Whiskey, straight please.” She gave him a nod and set to work. He watched as she reached for the middle shelve whiskey and shook his head. “Sorry love, but the top shelf stuff. I’ve had a bit of a rough day.”

The beautiful woman chuckled. “Must be if you want this stuff. Want to talk about it? I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

“Nothing too exciting.” Rip accepted the drink with a grateful smile. “Just a job that didn’t go quite as planned. It worked out in the end but it was hell to get it done.”

“Well, you got it done. I guess that’s all that matters, huh?” Her eyes flicked to the other end of the bar. She set the bottle down next to him. “I have to go tell a very drunk man that he’s had enough. I’ll leave this here for you. You look like you need it.”

“Thank you.” With his glass in hand, he turned to gaze around the room to make sure that his team wasn’t making any trouble. Sara and Mick were at the pool table, playing against each other while Leonard sat nearby with their drinks and watched them. Kendra was sitting at a table with Raymond, their heads ducked close each others. He had no doubt that they were having some kind of intimate moment. Martin was sitting at the next table nursing a club soda. His eyes were trained off to the side and he had a frown on his face.

Rip followed the older mans line of sight to Jax, who was standing farther down the bar. He was talking to another guy, a biker if his clothing choices were anything to go by. He eyed them a little longer to gauge their body language. It didn’t take him long to see that the biker was flirting with the younger man. Jax didn’t seem to be getting the hint, trying to go back to Martin. Rip was about to step in when the biker raised his hands and backed off. Though not before waving to the bartender and buying him a drink. Jax turned to thank the woman, and that’s when he saw it.

The man had dropped something into the beer.

All his irritation from the fact that he might have to step in vanished, replaced with rage. Before he knew it, he was by Jax’s side and grabbing the beer out of the younger mans hand.

“Rip, what the hell!?” He exclaimed.

His attention wasn’t on his youngest team member. He only had eyes for the biker who stood a good foot taller than him and had at least a hundred pounds on him. But neither of those things even deterred him. How dare this man try and drug Jax, who had just barely reached legal drinking age. He would not forgive this.

“I didn’t realize that drugging an innocent person was the proper way to do things when you get rejected,” His words came out quiet, and vicious, his anger probably very apparent.

The man glared at him. “I have no idea what you’re going on about so I suggest you take a hike bud,”

“That’s not going to happen,” He snarled at the man. Jax must have realized that something was going to go down because he stepped back behind Rip. “You see, this young man is a friend of mine so I won’t let someone like you get away with this.”

“You have no proof I didn’t anything wrong,” The man puffed up, as if trying to intimidate him. “And even if I did, what are you going to do about it, huh? I could toss you across the room without even trying.”

“How about you find out, tough guy?” He knew that he could take this guy no problem. The only issue was that this guy had quite a few friends here with him. Then again, he always did enjoy a challenge. “I bet I can take on you and your friends without breaking a sweat,”

“Rip, maybe we should-” Jax started but was interrupted when the biker laughed. He turned back to his friends who were grinning at their boss. Though it seemed like it wasn’t only them who was paying attention to them. The few people gathered around the bar were staring at them with wide eyes. They knew what was coming. They all did. 

And he wasn’t going to let the man get the first hit. He took a breath to calm himself and prepare him for the chaos that was no doubt about to happen.

The shattering of the beer bottle was _oh so satisfying_ as he brought it down in the mans head. He would have loved to pour it down the mans throat just to have him get a taste of his own medicine. He would have to make due with just kicking his ass.

The biker had bent over so that he could clutch his head in his hands when he struck again. The knee he smashed into the mans face sent him stumbling back and that was all he needed for the next opening. He used the side of the bar to propel himself forward, which helped him land the perfect kick onto the mans chest and sent him flying backwards onto a table, which broke under the mans weight. 

He didn’t have time to enjoy the sight of the man lying in a heap on the ground. He could see out of the corner of his eye that the rest of his friends were coming towards them, anger filling their faces. He knew then that this was about to get very messy because he knew he couldn’t allow him to get away with this. Even if it wasn’t Jax that he had decided to prey on, he would have had the same reaction. People like this made him sick. And he made sure that they would know it.

He ducked under the first bikers swing, which was slow and sloppy from booze. An elbow to the jaw sent him to join his boss on the floor. He hear glass smash off to the side and just barely managed to duck when another biker took a swing at him with a broken bottle. He dodged the swipes, making sure to keep and eye on the other men. When one of the mans swings went wide, he used this opened to grab the mans wrist, forcing him to bend his elbow so that he stab him in the should with the broken bottle.

It seemed like the other bikers were no longer just going to come at him one by one for he soon found himself surrounded. It didn’t bother him much. He has been in worse spots than this before. He could handle a few drunk bikers that had way too much confidence. They all seemed to be in the same boat as the first one, drunk and slow.

He made quick work of two of the bikers, sending the to the floor with some expertly placed hits. He would never admit it to anyone, but he actually enjoyed kicking their asses. It actually made him feel better, despite the fact that he had been exhausted even before they got here. 

He grunted he someone wrapped their arms around him, trapping his arms by his side. He jerked his head back, but the man only grunted as his head connected with their nose. He flinched as another biker landed a hit on his stomach. He lashed out with a foot, catching him on the nose, a crunch and blood signalling that he had broken his nose.

He lifted his hands up, still blocked by the man behind him, but he only needed the little bit of room that gave him. Twisting his hips to the side, he moved his leg so that it was behind the bikers. Then he pushed back. The man got caught over his leg, and fell backwards, releasing him as he went down. He managed to catch himself on his stomach, and rolled out of the way of another foot that was coming at him. He flipped to his feet and glared at the remaining two men who were now watching him with wary eyes. It seemed that these two were not as stupid as the other ones. 

He grinned, malicious and mean. “You just going to stand there or what? Because if I’m honest, your friends weren’t really much of a challenge.”

The two men shared a look before determination before they both jumped at him. He ended up being pushed back against the bar but he just flipped over it and struck out at the closest one with his foot.. He only managed to clip his shoulder but it was enough to give him some time to duck down to the other end where he jumped back over to the floor behind the second man. With a quick kick to the mans kidney, he was brought down to his knees. Another knee to the back of his end knocked him out, leaving him with just one man left.

Who decided that he didn’t want to fight anymore. He had ducked away and was fleeing towards the door. Normally he wouldn’t care but the thought of letting him go was not something he was willing to allow. Especially after what their boss tried to do to Jax. He chased after him, jumping over a table to get to the door before him. A roundhouse kick dropped him to the floor, where he knelt down over him and delivered a sharp punch to his face, effectively knocking him out.

He knelt there for a few moments just catching his breath before he pushed himself to his feet. It took him a moment to realize just how quiet it was. With one glance around the room, he saw everyone pressed against the far wall, staring at his in shock. His eyes looked for his team and he spotted them just sitting at a group of tables off to the side. They were eyeing him with a mixture of surprised and impressed. He looked for Jax, spotting him beside Mick and Len. His mind calmed seeing the younger man okay.

Knowing that they would have to leave, he moved back over to the bar. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of bills. He handed them to the shocked bartender. “I apologize about that, love. This is to pay for the drinks and the damage that I caused.”

He turned and headed for the door. He heard footsteps behind him and assumed that his team was following him. He knew that they would harass him with questions and pointer on his technique.

“I’m guessing that we are leaving?” An amused voice spoke from beside him. He looked over at Sara, who was smirking at him. “Because if we were to do anything like that, you would be forcing us back to the ship.”

“Or we would be chased back there by others,” Mick commented, striding up to them with a shit-eating grin.

Rolling his eyes, Rip knew that these two would be the worst out of the group. “I apologize for ruining your night,”

“Don’t worry about it,” And Sara did not sound upset about it at all. 

“Yeah, Jax told us what happened,” Mick grumbled, his voice tinged with anger. He angrily pushed the door open and they trailed after him. “If you hadn’t done that, I would have.”

He felt someone press against his side and looked over to see Jax pressed very close to him. “I had tried to leave him but he had been very pushy. I just didn’t realize that he would do something like that. If you hadn’t caught it, I could be in a very bad place right now. So thank you.”

Shaking his head, he wrapped his arm around his shoulders. “Of course. I would never let anything like that happen. To any of you guys.”

“Yeah, because if they do, you’ll kick their ass,” Jax laughed. “Which was so totally badass dude.”

“I’ve never seen you fight like that.” Sara’s voice was filled with curiosity and a little suspicion. “How come we are only seeing this side of you now?”

“I’ve never had to fight like this before.” Rip thought about it for a second before he shook his head. “Actually, I think it’s more of the fact that most people underestimate me. It makes things easier for missions.”

Mick snorted. “Yeah, I bet it does. Who knew the scrawny Englishman had these kinds of skills?”

“Well now you know.” Rip looked behind them just to be sure that no one was following them as they crossed into an abandoned parking garage where they parked the Waverider. The last thing they needed was for someone to see the ship. “So I have some very nice bottles of whiskey and rum, among other things, back on the ship. Since I was the one to ruin you guys night, how about we go back and split a few bottles.”

“Oh I can get onboard with that,”

“Sounds great,”

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about.”

His night may have been disturbed by a disgusting group of bikers, but his team would always be there for him. And he would be there for them.


	2. Survive (Rip)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have had this one shot for a while and I have been debating posting it at all. It has some things that could upset or trigger them. I hope this doesn't offend anyone, but its how I imagine that Rips childhood might have been like.
> 
> TW; Child abuse, rape, murder.

_Survive_.

The one thing that he has taken from his mother was the one thing that has helped him through many harsh times. That one word has helped him make it to adulthood, helped him go on when he wanted nothing more than to just give up One of the few things he actually remembers about her and the most important thing he has had since he was younger, since his mother died. Watching as his mother withered away from an easily curable disease, he has learned that life isn’t fair and no matter how hard you pray to a god, nothing can change that. When his mother died, he had nothing left. They had been living in a run down shack when she had fallen ill and had very little money. His mother worked two jobs but even that had only been enough to feed them and give them a shelter. It wasn’t enough to buy her the medication that she needed to get better. He had thought that that he could help her if he was a good boy, didn’t ask for anything and helped out when he could. It didn’t do anything in the long run but he wanted to believe that he had made her feel better. As she lay on her thin mattress, breathing her last breaths, she gave him the most important advice he has ever gotten. Something that he carried with him, even now decades later.

_Survive_.

The police that took him away after they had found his mother dead, were not nice people. They grabbed him roughly and dragged him around like he was nothing more than a mangy mutt. He hated them. They took him to a house filled with kids like him. Kids with no parents. It was alright at first, but he missed his mother. He missed her stories, her hugs and her unfailing ability to make him laugh, even in the worst of times. He knew that there would be no one that could replace her and didn’t even try to connect with the adults in the house. The adults that looked after him were normal, at least that was what he thought in the beginning. He had learned the hard way not to trust people on their appearance. The woman was cruel, reigning over the house with a stern hand. He often was left with bruises and cuts when he went to bed and would often remain for days. The man, when he came home from work, would grab a drink and keep drinking until he was walking and talking funny. The kids around him had learned to avoid him when he did. He only learned when he had received a hit for getting in the way of the game. So he did what the others were doing. He stayed out of the way and hoped that he would be ignored. Except, it didn’t get better. It got so much worse. So he made a choice, one that he had thought could not make it worse than what was happening at that time. He chose to leave and make his own way in life on the streets. He chose his own future.

_Survive_.

The first few weeks on the street were hell. He could not find enough food, or find shelter that was not already claimed by someone else. The weather had taken a turn so he was often huddling somewhere he could be somewhat protected from the wind and rain. He had run away with only the clothes on his back. By the time three weeks had passed, they were in tatters and offered him little to no protection. He had not been able to bring any food with him so he had to find some on his own. He had taken to digging through trash to find some kind of food, enough to keep him alive. It was often old and gross food but he knew that he could not be picky. There were plenty of times where he had gone days without food. The ache and gnawing hunger in his stomach had become a constant and familiar feeling. He had actually been surprised when he made it to month two of living on the streets. He had fully believed that he would die of hunger, thirst, or cold within the first week. He would have preferred to die on the streets than to live in that house. He didn’t like the idea of allowing himself to be abused just so that he could get some food and have a roof over his head. Only seven years old and he was already at the point where he was ready to accept his death. He knew that it would be easier, and less painful than living like this. But his mother’s words kept him going. Kept him alive.

_Survive_.

It did get easier. He soon learned that he would have to do more than foraging to stay alive on the streets like these. He had met a few teens that had been willing to give him a few pointers on how to pick pocket, shoplift and general knowledge of the area and people. They didn’t stick around and he didn’t blame them. There were some unsavoury people in the area where he had set up his own space. It was an old factory that has long been abandoned, rusted to the point that is was almost suicide going into it. He was small and light enough that it was perfect for him. Safe enough too. No one would be willing to go in there after him so he always had a safe place to run to if he got into a bad situation. It took him a few weeks to master pick pocketing without getting caught. Even with that skill though, he still had a hard time making sure he got enough to eat. The ache in his stomach was a permanent fixture nowadays but he knew there wasn’t much he could do about it. But he had been happy that he had finally settled into life on the streets and thought that maybe it would get easier. He thought wrong.

_Survive_.

He had to learn the hard way not to trust people on their word. He had known right away not to trust people that lived on the streets like him. He knew that they would do anything to get by, much like himself. What he didn’t think about was the normal people. The people who had jobs, houses, cars and the like. He didn’t realize that he had to be wary of them as well. It had been days since he had even gotten a bite of food and he had been getting desperate. So when a normal man came to him offering a meal for a small favour, he had tentatively accepted. He wished that he had declined, wished that he could take back his choice. Wished that he did not have to go through that, something that an eight year old child should never have to go through. He would have to carry the burden of his choices in the scars that the man had left with his teeth. For days after, he had carried the idea of letting go, of giving up but his mother’s words had rang through his head. He had to learn from his mistakes and move on. It was a horrific event but it was something that he has come to realize had made him stronger. It had made him realize exactly how tough life was and knew that he would have to stop being so nice if he wanted to make it one more year.

_Survive_.

It had gotten almost too easy for him on the streets after a year of living on them. He has mastered his pick pocketing skills and was able to eat almost every day. He had been able to save up some money to buy himself some new clothes that didn’t have holes in them or were previously owned. He even had a little left over that he could get himself some materials to make his shelter warmer during the cold nights. He learned who lived nearby and who to avoid. He learned how to travel quickly between the alleys and across the rooftops. Travelling through the streets like that have made him an expert on running away. It also helped that he was now able to know every street and alley in the area around his little shelter. He has even learned a few fighting techniques from watching some other people fight. Thankfully, he has never had to use them. He knew that he was too small and too weak to actually do anything to anyone. If it ever appeared appeared like the situation was leaning towards violence, he used his small stature and speed to get away. Nobody has ever been able to keep up with him when he did. He didn’t want to start something that would end up with him hurt or even dead.

_Survive_.

He had caught a look at himself in a mirror a little over a year on the streets and he barely recognized himself. Even though he was outside most of the day, he was paler than the dead. He thought maybe it had something to do with the fact that he didn’t get anywhere near the amount of nutrition he was supposed to. Which also made him look like a walking skeleton. Stick like arms and legs, he was skinnier that he has ever been. He could see and count ever rib, could see the bones in his arms and legs in enough detail that it kind of freaked him out. He was half the size that he should have been and looked a lot younger than he actually was. He looked terrible, if he was to be honest, and it scared him. It scared him how much the streets had affected him. He had thought that he had finally gotten used to the minimalist lifestyle. He knew then that he was getting enough food, water and sleep to stay alive but not enough to be healthy. And he had no idea what to do other than try harder to stay alive. After all, he had a promise to keep. 

_Survive_.

The days passed by quickly and he soon lost track of what day it was. He often didn’t even know what month it was. He wasn’t even sure how old he was anymore. He has never celebrated his birthday, mainly because his mother has never had enough money to do so. He wasn’t even sure that he cared anymore. It wasn’t like it mattered all that much to his survival. The days that passed were always the same. He would get up, and go out to the busy main street where he could lift some wallets. People these days rarely carry money with them so he didn’t find much that could help him. The cards that people carried that accessed their money, were often secured by protective measures he couldn’t figure out. So those were no good. When he got tired of that, or when he actually found some money would he return home. He has found out how to ration food so when he found a lot of food, he would take it home and store it. He would eat in the late afternoon if he had any left over. After his small meal, he would go out in search of more food. Restaurants were a good place to look. They were always throwing food away. If he was unable to find any food, he would return back home to sleep. Then it was the same thing the next day. And the next day. And the next. Day after day of just trying to survive so he wasn’t all that surprised when he lost track of the days. He didn’t care about the passing of time as long as those days kept coming.

_Survive_.

He barely remembered his mother anymore. His memories of his childhood were fading as he grew older. He hated it, hated losing those precious memories. Those moments in time have helped him in so many ways and to lose them because his mind was not good enough, made him him angry. He has never gone to school so he could not read or write. He didn’t know math or science or any of that stuff they taught in school. He has never really needed those skills in his life. He knew how to recognize the shapes of words and what they meant but he had no idea what they actually said. He knew about amount and money and numbers. He had had to teach himself all of this stuff. He had thought that even though he was not school smart, he would be able to remember the most important person in his life. He held onto what he could remember like a life line but it  
eventually slipped through his fingers. He hated the feeling. He was losing the most important thing in his life, except that one word that had helped him through the hardest times in his life.

 _Survive_.

He has taken to carrying a knife around with him. As he got older, and more knowledgeable about the streets, he realized that it was a stupid thing to go around unprotected. He knew that running away would not always be an option for him. He had found a knife on a dead body of a man, and while he hated defiling the dead, he needed the knife more than the man did. And he was glad that he did take for he needed it sooner than he had thought. A small group of teens had moved into the area, terrorizing people around them. They had scared the people that they wanted something from and killed anyone who defied them. They were merciless and didn’t discriminate against anyone. He had been lucky enough to avoid them. He knew that it was only a matter of time before he ran into them. It turned out to be sooner rather than later. They had wanted him to be one of their minions, to do whatever they said when they said it. He was sure he even heard on of them call him “pretty” and he knew that it would not be a good thing to do as they said. So he refused. He didn’t remember much of what happened next, only that there was a fight and only one of the teens managed to get away. Two were dead and another one was injured beyond fixing. He was covered in blood, holding the knife so tightly that his bones ached. He was shaking so hard and yet he felt so numb. This was the first time he has ever killed anyone but he hadn’t felt guilty about it. He knew that it was either them or him. He made his choice and he wasn’t going to regret it.

_Survive_.

It had been years since he had abandoned the foster home to live on the street when he was approached by a pair of men. Of course he didn’t trust them. He didn’t trust anyone. They talked about unimaginable stuff and he had thought they were messing with him. There was no way what they talked about was real. And it go even weirder when they offered him a chance to join them. The last time he had gone with a strange man, he had ended up scarred for life. There was no way he was going with these men. They gave him a device to contact them if he “changed his mind”. They seemed so sure he was going to join them that it sort of pissed him off. He hated the idea that they thought they knew him so well. Except, they may have been right. What they offered was everything that he has not had in his life. Food, shelter, safety. A home is what they were appearing to offer. He couldn’t tell if they were actually telling the truth but to be honest, did it really matter? He was getting tired of this. Constantly struggling to find something to eat, sleeping with a knife under his pillow, it was making him exhausted. The chance that these men were offering him could give him a chance of an actual life. But would it be worth it? It didn’t matter. He promised his mother he would survive no matter what. With a hesitant mind, he called the men back and faced his future with his head held high. He was going to live, no matter what this world threw at him.

He was going to _survive_.


End file.
